


whispering truths, screaming secrets

by Shewolf_of_highgarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, King Bran Stark, Mostly Book, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Alliances, Political Marriage, Queen Sansa, Rickon is alive, dany is still dead but she was a bamf, mistress of whispers arya, people trying their best, random mix of book and show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 00:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shewolf_of_highgarden/pseuds/Shewolf_of_highgarden
Summary: Family, duty, honor.Arya has done all she can for her family, but with the reigns of Bran and Sansa so tenuous and House Tyrell already gearing up to try to get power she is yet again asked to do her duty. Facing wights was a lot easier than facing marriage.





	1. I. Letters

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a pure unadulterated crack!ship fix. I kept Bran and Sansa getting thrones and Jon going to the Wall from the show ending, but i kept a lot of book elements. One important element original to this fic is Arya stayed in KL as Bran's Mistress of Whispers. More of the changes are going to be revealed as we go along. 
> 
> Also as mentioned in the tags this is older man/younger woman. Arya is about 16/17 in chapter one and Willas is 27. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Compiled from the records of Grand Maester Samwell Tarly and Grand Maester Gareth:**

A raven scroll from King Brandon I to Queen Sansa I, 306 AC

_Sansa,_

_I write to you in the hopes of receiving guidance that others cannot give me. The Lady Margaery has come out of High Garden with the news that five years past she gave birth to a son. She claims that the boy is the son of the late Prince Tommen Lannister. According to our own sweet sister, the boy looks Lannister enough. Arya says the wind has told her that there are some who plan to put the boy on the throne. House Tyrell is also_ demanding _asking their reward for aiding us in the defeat of Euron Greyjoy. Both Tyrion and Arya’s advice on the matter seem rather unwise. Meera has suggested fostering the boy to keep him close and the Tyrell’s appeased on both fronts. What say you, sweet sister, as it is said you were fond of the Lady Margaery._

_Regards,_

_Bran_

…

A raven scroll from Queen Sansa I to King Brandon I, 306 AC

_Sweet Brother,_

_I am surprised to hear the news of Margaery’s son. If the boy is Joffrey’s then he would be five or mayhap six. It is doubtful that the boy is Tommen’s due to his youth during their union. If the boy is a Lannister, I cannot say to whom he would belong to. After my marriage to the Lord Tyrion I spoke little with her or the Lady Olenna, so if there was a plot I cannot say. I would be weary of having House Tyrell in court. I was fond of Margaery, true, but I know well enough that even the prettiest of the roses have thorns. Keeping the boy at court is too dangerous. Send him to a trusted house and when he is of age send him to Jon at the Wall. As for a reward give one of them a seat on your council, it might do to keep at least one of them close. You should also have Lady Margaery wed before she can make another fruitful alliance. Cousin Robyn may make a good match for her. Rickon sends his love. How fares Arya?_

_With fondness,_

_Sansa_

…

A raven scroll from Princess Arya Stark, Mistress of Whispers, to Queen Sansa I, 306 AC

_Queen in the North, Lady of the Northern Realm, and Defender of Lemon Cakes,_

_Sweet sister, do you know you have a traitor in your midst? Or in your walls. Or mayhap under a table. I would start by looking at scullery maids and cupbearers. Somehow a merchant was found carrying a scroll that was meant to go to Bran. The man is still being interrogated for his knowledge of how this scroll came to be in his possession. You need to weed out traitors in your household. You also need to keep an eye on Rickon. I hear tell that he plans to steal Lyanna Mormont and I fear for his safety._

_Fond regards,_

_Arya_

_…_

A raven scroll from Lord of Winterfell, Prince Rickon Stark to Commander of the Night’s Watch Jon Snow, 306 AC

_Dear Jon,_

_This scroll is for Tormund, but I think you will need to read it to him. Ask him the best way to steal a woman._

_Rickon_

…

A raven scroll from King Brandon I to Queen Sansa I, 306 AC

_Dearest Sansa,_

_That plan may indeed work. Which do you think deserves a seat on the council? Tyrion has advised against Lord Mace. One of his sons would suffice. Arya suggests Loras Tyrell, but I believe our sister is advising on what would be best for her own entertainment rather than what is best for the realm. I believe that cousin Robyn would be better suited with a lady from the Vale or the Riverlands, one as clever as Margaery Tyrell may not be for the best. Arya has suggested the Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall, I believe that would be a good match. The boy could be sent to foster at Riverrun with Uncle Edmure or mayhap to the North if you would be amenable. Lord Tyrion continues to insist we find more ways to tie the Tyrells to us, that may suffice._

_Fondly,_

_Bran_

…

A raven scroll from Queen Sansa I to King Brandon I, 306 AC

_Bran,_

_I am sorry for the late response. Rickon has attempted to steal Lyanna Mormont and I have spent the better part of a week convincing her not to kill him. To be honest I believe she likes him in a way. I shall keep you updated on the situation as you shall continue to tell me how your relationship with the Lady Meera progresses. I shall want to attend the wedding. I confess that I have never met Willas Tyrell and know little of him other than what Lady Margaery has told me. I believe Lord Tyrion would have better advice in this matter than I. The same can be said of Edric Dayne for I know little of him, having only briefly met him during the War of the Dawn. I trust Arya’s judgment in this. I would be amenable to fostering Lady Margaery’s son, none will use him in Winterfell._

_Fondest regards,_

_Sansa_

…

A raven scroll from Princess Arya Stark, Mistress of Whispers, to Queen Sansa I, 306 AC

_Sansa,_

_Your brother and his imp of a Hand have gone absolutely mad. The imp talks of little else than alliances and how they are formed. He has gone so far as to suggest that I wed Lord Willem Tyrell. Can you believe his audacity? I am the Mistress of Whispers. The She-wolf of Winterfell. Warrior for the Dawn. And they had the nerve to ask me to wed. Talk to Bran, Sansa. Talk to him and tell him how stupid he is being._

_Your favorite sister,_

_Arya_

…

A raven scroll from Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock, to Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of High Garden, 306 AC

_Lord Mace Tyrell,_

_The council has under taken your request for a proper award for House Tyrell’s part in the defeat of Euron Greyjoy and has decided to award a council seat to your eldest son, Willas Tyrell. As we have seen how eager to please on the council during the reign of the late kings Joffrey and Tommen, we expect him to show the same level of enthusiasm. King Brandon also would like to have close relations with House Tyrell. He offers to allow the young Brandon Flowers to foster at Winterfell with his sister, her royal highness Queen Sansa, in order to keep him from those who wish to use him. I suggest packing heavy furs, leather, and wool. The Northerns care little for silks and will like you less for them. His royal highness also wishes to offer your heir, Willas Tyrell, the hand to his sister, the Lady Arya. Lady Arya is a high spirited and clever girl. As Mistress of Whispers we are sure she will be quite content to show Lord Willas the Red Keep._

_From,_

_Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King_

…

A raven scroll from Lord Garlan Tyrell, Lord of Brightwater, to Willas Tyrell, heir to High Garden, 306 AC

_Sweet Brother,_

_I hear from Father that multiple congratulations are in order. A seat on the King’s Council and the hand of his own sister? Who in the name of the gods did you kill or fuck to manage that? Advisor is still better than nothing, Willas. The hand of a princess is not either. It is a good thing that you are so fond of wildlife for I hear the girl is half wild herself. Mayhap you should try to woo her wolf first. Leonette and Rose send their regards and best wishes._

_Your brother,_

_Garlan_

…

A raven scroll from Princess Arya, Mistress of Whispers, to Jon Snow, Commander of the Night’s Watch, 306 AC

_Jon,_

_You, as always, are the only person I can turn to at this time. Bran and Sansa have both decided to forsake me. Your brother, King Brandon the Mad, has decided to offer my hand to the Lord Will Tyrell. I wrote to Sansa for her to talk some sense into him since she can talk men into anything and yet she refused. Queen Sansa the Traitor said it was my duty and that if I wanted to continue to keep House Stark safe, I needed to do this. Have I not done my share? I fought during the Long Night. I stayed in the gods forsaken South to be Mistress of Whispers when Bran asked me to. I warn Sansa when I hear that Rickon is about to do something reckless. Does none of this count for anything? Tell Tormund to make room at the camps for I am going to ride for the Gift._

_Yours always,_

_Arya_

…

A raven scroll from Queen Sansa I to Princess Arya Stark, Mistress of Whispers, 306 AC

_Little sister,_

_I have spoken to Jon, and I understand your anger yet I repeat the necessity of this match. House Tyrell needs to be kept close and this is one of the best ways to achieve this. There is no one else to do this either. Should I ever wed it shall be to a Northern bannerman, Bran and Rickon cannot wed Margaery for more reasons than most of her husbands end up dead, and Jon is committed to remaining at the Wall. Who better to be with House Tyrell than our very own Mistress of Whispers? Should they plot against us you will be there to stop them. Lady Margaery’s Brandon Flowers will be fostered with me to ensure their good behavior and your marriage to Lord Willas will ensure that we know that they are not plotting to take either the South or the North. If nothing else I would remind you that you are half Tully and Mother’s words still ring true. Family, duty, honor. We must all do our duty to the family. Besides since Lord Willas is coming to be an advisor on the small council, you will not lose your position on it. This is truly for the best. Please, Arya. Bran’s reign is still fragile and mine has its enemies, now is not the time to make more enemies. I know we ask much of you, but we truly need you. Just think on it._

_Your loving sister,_

_Sansa_

…

A raven scroll from Princess Arya Stark, Mistress of Whispers, to Queen Sansa I, 306 AC

_Sansa,_

_You owe me for this. Should I find him overly disagreeable or should he try to change me Jon is going to take him for the Watch._

_Your sister,_

_Arya_

…

A raven scroll from Queen Sansa I to Princess Arya Stark, Mistress of Whispers, 306 AC

_Arya,_

_Should Willas Tyrell harm you or treat you badly I shall demand his head myself._

_Yours,_

_Sansa_


	2. Roses Among Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy. Sorry for the late chapter, my muse keeps coming and going. I hope you enjoy!

Willas read of King’s Landing since he was a child. He had read of the red castle with its high towers, once home to dragons. As a boy, when Garlan was still half babe and half boy, he had visited with Father on a rare occasion and marveled at the size of it. He had been amazed at the knights and the hustle of the people of the kingdom. He remembers wanting to swim in the Black Water, only for Father to yank him back warning of a strong current. He had gone home to tell anyone who would listen that he would return to King’s Landing one day. He had planned to come back as a knight, mayhap one day he would be part of the King’s Guard or mayhap he would show his valor during the joust.

His return now is almost bittersweet. He has come as a broken man to a city that is half a ruin itself. To make the return more bitter he is not here because he proved his worth as a knight and he knows better than to believe this to truly be a reward for his service. Willas lead his people against Euron Greyjoy, but it was Garlan who rode while Willas planned. He is not too naïve to understand that he had been given this role, at least in part, as a way to keep an eye on him and to make sure that his family knew where their loyalties should lie. He is as much an advisor as he is a hostage and he is sure that his soon to be wife is meant to be his jailer.

“Well, it certainly smells better.” Olenna Tyrell sniffs as she steps from the wheelhouse into the courtyard of the Red Keep.

Margaery had described the keep to Willas several times in the scrolls she had sent when she had gone to King’s Landing to wed the late King Joffrey. Neither her descriptions nor his own memory fits the castle anymore. She had described a magnificent castle of red stone jutting up above the city. The inside was immense, so large that it took days for Margaery to feel as though she had seen the majority of areas in the keep. He had felt that way as a boy as well. He wonders how long it would take him to see all of the castle now.  

A good portion of the keep appears to have crumbled and there were areas that appeared as if they were waiting to crumble more. The courtyard was relatively clean, but stones and debris still remained off to the side. The city appeared smaller as well. The large busy city that Margaery had described was smaller, yet still busy. As the Tyrell host made their way to the keep people still ran beside them hailing the good Lady Margaery, their queen once upon a time. Boys stared in awe at Loras, sitting high and proud on his destier. Those who did not run to see the column could still be spotted go about their day. The city was half a ruin, but there was still work to be done.

“I think I find a whole city to a clean smell,” Margaery comments as she stepped out to stand next to their grandmother.

“Yes, well, one must do with what one has. Be glad that the smell has improved and that there are no more stashes of that wildfire to be found.” Grandmother says earning a grimace from Margaery.

No one wanted to think about the wildfire that had ravaged the city.

Willas dismounts from his horse, ignoring how Loras watches to see if help is needed, while Margaery helps Brandon out of the wheelhouse, his Septa close behind. The boy clutchs at Margaery’s skirts with a pudgy hand as he looks around the courtyard. Brandon had never left the Reach, rarely ever even left High Garden, before and had only heard stories of the other parts of Westeros. He is a quiet boy with Margaery’s easy nature. He is not prone to easy anger like Loras or too quick tears. Where he got this personality from was a mystery, at least to Willas. Maybe the father, though Willas is unsure of who Brandon’s father actually is. The name does not help any as he was named for the current king instead of his sire. Willas was told that the father was Tommen Baratheon, but knowing Margaery and Grandmother the child could be the son of anyone who looked like a Lannister and could keep quiet. As far as Willas knows it could have been Joffrey or Tommen or one of their many cousins who was the father. Not that it truly matters to Willas, his nephew is his nephew. Brandon is a son of High Garden and House Tyrell no matter who the father was.

To the rest of the kingdom, however, the father most certainly matters. If it did not Brandon would not be sent to the Northern kingdom to be fostered by the Queen Sansa. The crown clearly wants to keep the boy isolated and from those who would use his father’s blood as a way to dispose of the half-boy king. Willas did not like the king’s decree, but he understood it. King Bran would do well to be weary of the Queen of the Thrones and Margaery. He should be weary of them all.

“Lady Olenna, how long it has been?” A voice calls out, Willas turned to see a small man walking towards them. The imp of Lannister. The Last Lion. The Hand of the King.

“Long enough for a war to end. I see you saw fit to remodel the city. I never was terribly fond of the old one.”

“Yes,’ the Hand says dryly, ‘Cersei certainly tried her best to leave nothing behind…I suppose with so many roses in the city it shall look better. Though I had thought some of you would stay in High Garden.”

“And not see our Willas wed? Never.” Father says, lumbering over.

Tyrion nods slowly before turning to look at Willas with his mismatched eyes. He had glanced over Loras and finding Garlan absent had settled on Willas.

“Ah yes, Lord Willas. Welcome to King’s Landing. We look forward to you joining us on the small council.”

“Thank you, my lord Hand,” Willas responded.

“Call me Tyrion. We shall be seeing enough of each other that courtesy shall become rather boring,’ Tyrion seems to dismiss him as his gaze lands on Brandon and Margaery, “Lady Margaery as beautiful as ever. And this must be your son.”

Margaery brings Brandon forward with a bright smile, “It is good to see you again, Lord Tyrion. Brandon, this is your Uncle Tyrion.”

Tyrion appears to swallow down a grimace as he studies the boy. The boy had little of Margaery’s coloring in him. His hair was golden with the promise of curl or wave if allowed to grow long enough. His eyes shone emerald, similar to Lord Tyrion’s green eye. If there were more similarities Willas is not sure. He had limited interactions with Lannisters over the years and most had come from Lannisport. If there are differences between the branches he cannot say.

“Hello, young Brandon, welcome to King’s Landing.”

Brandon continues to clutch at Margaery’s skirts and waves timidly at the half-man. His curiosity was clearly battling with his shyness.

“Say hello to your uncle, Brandon,” Margaery said to her son, shoving him forward a little.

Brandon screws up his mouth, his refusal to speak becoming obvious. The boy could truly be as stubborn as Grandmother and Loras.

“It is no matter,’ Tyrion says, ‘I am sure that Brandon and I shall get to know each other. For now, I will show you to your chambers. You will be presented to his majesty at the welcoming feast tonight.”

“You have our thanks, Lord Tyrion.” Mother says from her place beside Grandmother.

“I will join you after,’ Willas says, ‘I wish to accompany the horses to the stables.”

“The city may have fallen, my lord, but I assure you we have stable boys,” Tyrion says, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Willas tries not to take offense from it.

“Willas is always protective over the horses. He breeds them himself; you know.” Father says with a chuckle.

That chuckle always servs to rankle. Father spoke of him, and mayhap all of his children as if he was still some youth to be indulged rather than a man grown with a seat on the king’s small council, who would one day be the Lord of High Garden. Never mind that fact that Willas takes pride in the horses he bred. He has spent years working on how to learn about how to properly care for horses and how to breed them. He had worked to learn about all the different breeds to be found in Westeros. He had even bred Loras’ destrier.

“As you will. You will be able to find your chambers in the Maiden Vault along with the rest of your family.”

“Are Willas’s permanent chambers to be there?” Father asks with a frown.

“No, but the keep is rather tight right now. If you would prefer to sleep with stone and rubble, Lord Willas, we can find you accommodation. Who knows, you may even find a friend amongst the stone.” Tyrion says.

“I am fine sharing the Maiden Vault with my family. Thank you, my lord.” Willas, says before Father can continue on.

Father follows the grooms and the horses. He has worked too hard and cares to much for the beasts for some stable hand to misuse them. Loras oft laughed at him and said he was worse than a nursemaid, but Willas does not care (much). He has raised these horses and worked hard to learn them. For a few moons after the accident he refused to even look at a horse, later when interacting with humans could be too much, he would find solace in the horses. They found nothing to pity in him, only someone to pet them or feed them.

It is clear that that some attention has been paid attention to the stables. Stalls have been set up and while not grand by any means, they were clearly new. Grooms and nights and stable boys hustle around the stables looking for horses and having horses put away. The stables appear to be as full as the lord hand implied that the Red Keep was.

The grooms lead Willas and the horses into a quieter section of the stables. The only one truly taking up space in this area is a stable boy, who upon inspection, turns out to be a young woman. She is a small thing and dirty. Her dark hair looks as if birds could roost in it and there is dirt smudged on her face. She strokes the neck of a white stallion, who she turns from when she hears them approach.

She studies the group for a moment before turning to Willas, “You’re the new lord from High Garden, then.”

Willas cannot truly tell if that is a question of not, but he decides to answer all the same. He knows all too well the reputation that his family has tried to make among the smallfolk and knows he must strive to maintain it, though it is not terribly hard to do so.

“Aye, I am Willas Tyrell.”

“You’re the one who is supposed to marry the Lady Arya.”

The statement throws him off. He was preparing to ask her about the mare she stands before. It is rather beautiful, lithely built and cream colored. In his surprise he gives a quick answer.

 “I am.”

“I hear she is a beastling, a bitch from the seventh hell.” The young woman says, stroking the muzzle of the horse idly.

“You should not speak of the king’s sister so.” Willas says. With the princess as his betrothed he is duty bound to defend her, jailer or no. Besides should he not the news of insults may reach the ears on King Brandon and nothing good could come of it.  

“I wonder how long it will take before you speak of the king’s sister so.”

“I would not speak of my wife in such a way.”

“You will when you realize she will not be tamed…they say she defies almost all orders put to her. Even the king himself cannot truly command her.”

“Who says I mean to order her about?” Willas does not tell her, that he is sure how much time he even plans to spend with his wife.

“Is that not what lords do with their ladies?”

“Not always. I’m certain none could tell my grandmother what to do.”

The girl seems to study him, taking in his words. It crosses Willas’ mind to ask why she is interested in the marriages between lords and ladies but decides to let it go. Gossip runs rampant in the Red Keep according to Margaery, mayhap the girl is trying to get information to give to her friends. A mouthy stable girl is not much to think about. Besides the girl could answer to someone and report back his answers. It was something that Grandmother or Father would have done.

…

The feast takes place in one of the small halls, the ceiling has disappeared at some point, so they were left with the open sky. With so much of the keep being rebuilt, there is little time to worry about small feasting halls, but that did not mean the court was going to let open space go to waste. Down in the hall lanterns and candles were used to illuminate the hall. The firelight made Loras’s golden doublet glow and makes the circlet of golden roses on Margaery’s head appear as if it made of flame. The fire glints off of the silver tapestries that have been left to hang on the walls that are large enough. The grey direwolf head of House Stark stares down upon them all.

At the head table, where the servants point Willas and his family too, sits the boy king. Not so much a boy now at nearly six and ten. He is older than either of Margaery’s husbands ever got to be. He does not look like the solemn Kings of Winter that Willas read so much about. Brandon Stark appears to possess the solemnity, but his hair looks as red as the flames that light the candles around him. His face is rounded and almost boyish as opposed to long and angular. King Brandon may have been a son of the North, but to Willas he appeared to be the image of a Southern king.

As the singer clears out of the open area in front of King Brandon’s table, servants usher Willas and his family forward. Upon closer inspection, Willas sees that his assumptions about King Brandon were correct. He was solemn looking, yet still had a boyish appearance. The red beard he is trying to grow appears no more than fuzz, yet is red enough to be noticed.

“King Brandon, I thank you for inviting us to the capital,” Father says with a deep bow…or what was a deep bow for Father. The snort that comes from some of the lords present were ignored.

“We are happy to have you at court, Lord Mace. Lord Tyrion was eager to meet his kin and my sister, the Queen Sansa, has often spoken of the Lady Margaery and the Lady Olenna.”

Margaery steps beside Father and gives a fluid curtsy, “I am pleased to hear that Queen Sansa is well, my king. I was fond of her when we were at court, as was Grandmother.”

King Brandon nodded before turning to look at Willas and Loras, “And which of you are the Lord Willas?”

“I am, your grace,” Willas said, bowing. He hoped that the dark would hide that he did not go as low as his lord father.

“Well, met my lord. I hope you will find your stay in the capital to be a pleasant one and that you will help the council.”

“I will do all I can to aid you, my king.”

“We are all grateful for the honor you do for our house, my king.” Grandmother said as she forced her way between Father and Margery.

“You must be the Lady Olenna. Lord Tyrion and Queen Sansa have told me much about you. I hope you find your stay in the city to be a pleasant one.”

“To see my Willas wed will make the trip back to this city well worth it.”

King Bran did not seem to be surprised by Grandmother’s candor. His smile stayed in place and to his credit his eyes did not falter, once.

“Aye. It is a happy day for all of us. I hope you will be a worthy husband to my sister, after all of the troubles we have been through we all deserve some peace.”

“I will work to be worthy of her, your grace.” Willas said, knowing Grandmother and Father would have given a different answer. The insinuation that he was not worthy of the king’s sister could be seen as an insult, but Willas saw no reason to start playing games too soon. Not on the first night in the keep, at least.

King Brandon gave him for another serene smile, before he looked past him, “Arya,’ he said, ‘it is about time you joined us.”

Willas turned to look at the princess as she stepped near him and his family in the hall and he felt his heart stutter a moment. He knew this girl…or he had seen her before. She had exchanged her breeches and doublet for a simple gown of deep grey. Her wild hair had been partly tamed by two wimple braids holding the rest of her hair. The gray eyes remained the same, though, even if this time they were laughing at him.

“Sweet sister, may I present to you the Lord Willas Tyrell.”

“We’ve met.”


	3. Small Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willas has his first council meeting, Arya and Meera meet with the Tyrell women, and the writer tries to work through writer's block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know this update is really late, but i've been working through some writer's block. This is kind of a filler chapter (not much in the way of Willas and Arya interaction), but i figured if i tried writing i could get back into the groove of regular updates. I hope you enjoy!

Arya was positive that her little brother was trying desperately to drive her mad. She was not particularly sure as to what she had done to earn this torture, in fact it is rather unfair if the truth was being told. As children Arya would allow Bran to sleep with her when he turned up at her chamber door or sometimes, she would even take him to their parents’ chamber before heading for Jon’s. When she stole lemon cakes or sweet bread from the kitchens, she would share with him. She wouldn’t tell Mother when he went climbing, usually trying to follow him instead of tattling. So why he felt the need to repay her kindness with an early council session was beyond her. He acted as if he does not have a perfectly nice featherbed and a perfectly willing Meera Reed to warm it. The fact that Meera was not forced to be sitting here was another strike against her brother.  

It was not as if Arya was any stranger to rising early. She spent years rising early to go about the day, but now that she lived in one place and has a bed was soft and warm it was rather nice to wake up after the sun has. She admitted that as much as she still enjoyed slipping out of the castle early, there were times when she wanted to be able to revel in waking up later than most. Bran was trying to ruin that. Evidently everyone else on the council had agreed to help him in achieving his goals.

“The Iron Bank is insisting on payments.” The lord hand said, and Arya was yet again struck by how much the man can drink without being sick in the morn.

At the feast before, the last Lannister did his favorite thing to do during a feast; drink copious amounts of wine while others look on in awe or disapproval. Podrick was probably the only one to not really care how much the man drank. The Northerners did not truly disapprove, the men only grumbled when they could not out drink him. Arya, herself, had spent most of the night in her cups as she tried to avoid having to make tedious conversation with the Tyrell host. She had already agreed to wed their heir, must she be forced to speak to him as well?

“We must inform them again that we are rebuilding. Between the wildfire and the others, little in Westeros has been left untouched. We have no money for them.” Jason Mallister said with annoyance. The talk of coin always set everyone on edge, especially since it was exceedingly hard to come by as of late. Between the repairs needed in the North and the reconstruction of King’s Landing and sending aid to the Riverlands and helping the West recover from the Iron Men and trying to fix whatever the fuck Petyr Baelish did with the crown’s coin, there was little gold or silver to come by.

“Mayhap we could ask for an extension on our payments.” Podrick said.

Sarella snorted from where she sits, “The Iron Bank does not extend payments. We could make the argument that the debt belongs to house Lannister and house Baratheon as they held the throne during the time the loans were taken.”

“That is true,’ Mallister agreed, ‘King Brandon did not take out these loans. Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon did, why should we pay for it?”

“You expect two houses to pay off all of it?” Tyrion asked incredulously.

“I recall your father saying more than once that a Lannister always pays their debts.”

“My father said many things. He, however, is not here to repeat them.”

“It was said that Tywin shit gold. Surely, you have enough gold in that rock of yours to make even the sun jealous.”

“The last time my father took a shit, many things came out him. Blood, mostly, but no gold.”

Jason Mallister was about to say yet another quip, judging by his widening eyes when the door to the council room opens to show a rather disheveled Willas Tyrell, or as disheveled as a Tyrell ever looked. His cheeks were red, and he was obviously attempting to regain his breath.  

“Lord Willas Tyrell of High Garden. Advisor t-”

“We know who he is.” Tyrion said with a groan, interrupting the young Lannister cupbearer. Some cousin of his by blows.

Arya resisted the urge to groan herself. The only thing that made this council meeting, that she really did not even need to be at, bearable was the fact that Willas Tyrell was not brought up. She had dealt with him the night before at the feast and while the forced small talk was the not worst thing, she had ever experienced it was certainly not something she enjoyed. To be honest they had not spoken more than a few words to each other, while his family had taken it upon themselves to handle most of the conversation. Though most attempts at conversation were directed at Bran and Meera, and yet Tyrion did most of the talking. To make it worse she could feel all those eyes on her, waiting for to cause a scene or mess up. Courtiers were always waiting for a sho.

“I am sorry I am late, your grace.” Willas said with a bow as he approaches the table.

“It is understandable, my lord,’ Bran said with an easy smile, ‘We do not usually have council meetings so early after a night of feasting, but there is enough concern about the iron bank that the Lord Hand believed that this was a problem to be dealt with as early as possible.”

 _Or Tyrion Lannister could not sleep and decided to punish all of us for it_ , Arya thought.

“Of course, your grace.” Willas Tyrell said as his eyes searched for an empty seat. As tedious as she found Jason Mallister and as annoying and pompous as she found Edric Storm to be, she was suddenly grateful to be have been forced between them. The ever gallant Podrick Payne, however, was kind enough to motion to a seat shoved in between he and Sarella. Mayhap they would need a bigger table…or mayhap they would need someone to leave. Arya, herself, would not necessarily mind leaving the council and high tailing it back to the North or traveling the Riverlands or visiting the notorious Sand Snakes in Dorne, or almost anywhere else that was not here.

“I was just telling our Lord Hand that house Lannister should be held responsible for the debts incurred by the previous crown.” Lord Jason said, clearly eager for an ally in his argument. Arya wondered if the man remembered that a Tyrell queen was tied to that throne. If the Lannisters must pay, why not the Tyrells? Why not the Baratheons?

“What say you, Lord Willas? How should we deal with these debts?”

“Raising the taxes in whorehouses and the merchants in the city.” Andar said, before Willas could even open his mouth.

Arya turned to the man, “Raise tax on trade? There is barely anything to trade and with what little there is the people can barely pay for it.”

“The residents of King’s Landing should be pleased to help rebuild King’s Landing. It is their home.”

“Their homes were destroyed during the Dance. If we must tax someone, why not the Vale? The winter was fairly kind to you, was it not?” Arya hissed.

“Enough,’ Tyrion said, ‘as much as we would like to listen to the two of you argue, the king asked Lord Willas. Now the problem is not the rebuilding of the city, it is dealing with the loans taken by the iron bank.”

All eyes turned to Willas. To his credit, as loathe as Arya was to give it, he did not flinch or fidget as others would when being stared down by a small council. Though half of them were much younger than he and the king youngest of all, so mayhap that made them less intimidating. Arya didn’t think many people could find a king with a beard like Bran’s to be too intimidating. Aegon the Conqueror he was not, even if the tales of him made him seem as such.

“I agree with the Princess Arya,’ his brown eyes flicked to her, ‘taxing the few merchants left in the city would do little good That would only drive away business and encourage more smallfolk to leave the city. I believe it would be best to remind the Iron Bank the importance of a united Westeros and ask for leniency. If other parts of the country break off how will their debts be paid, then?”  

Jason Mallister simply stared at Willas, his cheeks reddening. Arya understood his embarrassment. As Master of Coin he probably should have thought of this, though no one had ever accused the man of cunning. Which was good, the last master of coin had been all too cunning.

“Before we leave, I have been told that a congratulations is in order,’ Bran says looking at Andar, ‘I hear that we are to be family.”

“Yes, your grace. My sister is beside herself with excitement.” Andar says, pride in his eyes as if he has done something more than push his sister into the arms of the Lord of the Eyrie.

“Cousin Robyn shall be a fine husband to her. Do you not agree, sister?”

Why must he drag her into this? Arya does not particularly care who odd Cousin Robyn is marrying. She is just grateful that talks of her being the one to wed him has ended.

“Aye. Cousin Robyn will treat her well.” Arya agrees, though she is not so sure that they will have a perfect union.

Robyn was no monster like Joffrey, but he is still a bit odd. At times he acted a man of his age and at others he acted as young as Rickon. He still had a temper, though Arya was not one to speak on that matter. At least she never made anyone “fly”. From the news that Arya heard, though, the men of the Vale were rather pleased with the liege lord. Ever since Lord Yohn Royce took Robyn under his wing there had been improvement. Which was lucky for Robyn because Arya was positive that had he not started to listen to the wisdom of his advisors and learned from Lord Yohn he would have been overthrown with some Royce or Waynwood in his place. After the fight against the others and the fight for survival after the Second Dance, neither House Stark nor Tully would have been useful in helping him to reclaim his seat. Never mind the fact that they were unlikely to help some distant relative that only Sansa knew and while her sister was fond of the boy, she was too well versed in self-preservation to get involved in a war that had nothing to do with her kingdom.

Moons ago Arya had mentioned to both Bran and Sansa that whispers of rebellion still lingered in the Vale. Lysa Tully had brought Petyr Baelish to them and did nothing to strengthen her son. People worried that the boy would continue the mistakes of his mother. Though neither Bran nor Sansa particularly wanted Robyn dethroned, there was little they could do. Sansa would not get involved in the issues of a kingdom in the South and Bran could not risk the ire of the Vale lords if it came to a rebellion. The betrothal of Robyn to the widowed Ysilla Royce made everyone breathe a little easier. This marriage would strengthen Robyn’s grip on the Vale as a betrothal to a woman of the Vale would please his bannerman. Having Andar Royce sit on the small council also helped to keep the Vale from following the North’s example and try to gain independence. If only Dorne was so easily appeased.

“Yes, it will be a happy day for all,’ Tyrion says, ‘I will be sure to drink in their honor. We do need to speak of a more important wedding, however.”

“Have you tricked some poor wench into wedding you?” Edric asked dryly.

“No, I am wed to the crown,’ Tyrion says as if they are not still petitioning the High Septon to annul his marriage to Sansa, ‘We will need to prepare for the arrival of Queen Sansa and her Northern host.”

“When shall they arrive?”

“About a moon, if the winds are favorable.” Bran answers.

Arya was somehow both relieved and perturbed about the news of Sansa. She knew that her sister planned to attend the wedding between Arya and Willas, of course. She was the Mistress of Whisperers after all. Still, it made it more real. Sansa would not be coming South for a small reason. It is rather dangerous to have the King in the South, Queen in the North, and her heir all in the same place, so it would not be done without good cause. Besides with Sansa there it would become all too real. She would want to talk about everything, of gowns and maiden cloaks and beddings.

“Would it not be easier to have the wedding somewhere in the middle, your grace?” asked Lord Andar. He might as well come out and suggest a double wedding with his sister.

“Perhaps Harrenhal?’ suggested Lord Jason, ‘Your maternal grandmother was a Whent, was she not?”

“We have been cursed enough without adding Harrenhal to everything,’ Arya said before Bran can answer, ‘Besides it would not do to disturb the ghosts.”

“And the last Stark betrothal that took place at Harrenhal ended so well.” Edric Storm muttered. If it was not for her love of her brother, she would have demanded an apology.

“My sister is correct, if only in sentiment. We shall have the Northern host in the capital,’ Bran said, ‘We wish to keep good relations between the people of the North and the South.”

“And bringing the Northern queen will help that?” Edric Storm asked.

“Aye it will. It will bring business to the city and give the people something to rally around.” Tyrion said.

“Rally around a land that left?”

“The people will rally behind the idea of unity between the North and the South.”

Arya chose to ignore how Tyrion glanced meaningfully at her and Willas when mentioning their respective homes.

**…**

Not-Yet-Official-Consort she may be, but not even Meera Reed got out of having the nooning meal with Lady Margaery and her many female relatives. Arya could not help but leer at her from over her cup of too sweet tea. The Reed girl was clearly as uncomfortable as Arya and since Meera had missed the morning meeting for no good reason, she found some satisfaction in it. At the very least she was not alone in her misery, even if Meera bore it with more grace. They took their meal outside and even Arya had to admit that it was nice to have an excuse to just sit in the half-alive gardens if for a moment. Late spring had not yet become summer, so the outside was still bearable. Arya was not looking forward to when summer arrived.

It was good weather for planting, Bran had observed, though when Bran learned anything about planting Arya did not know. Still, the flowers that had been planted after the winter ended were growing. The gardens were nothing like they were during the reign of Robert or Joffrey or Tommen, having been burnt, though if it was Daenerys, Aegon, or the Wildfire was anyone’s guess.  

“You are a lucky woman, Lady Meera, his grace is quite handsome.” Lady Leonette said with a bright smile.

“He is,’ Margaery agreed, ‘When the beard grows in, he shall be quite dashing. I hear he is the very image of the Lord Edmure. He is much like Willas in that regard. My eldest brother is the picture of my uncle.”

“He looks very little like Uncle Edmure.” Arya said dryly. It was not necessarily true, Bran looked a great deal like their uncle, especially around the eyes, but that was not for them to know. In any case Arya could not stand to hear people sing false praise about Bran’s beard. He claimed it made him look like Robb and the Kings of Winter and the River lords of old. Arya thought he looked rather like a diseased weasel. The beard, if could be called that, was patchy and varying degrees of orange and red. Truth be told Arya, Meera, and some of the Kings Guard were conspiring together to get rid of it. If she could get him alone, Arya was sure she could get the Lord Hand on her side.

Besides she wanted to be nowhere near the topic of Willas. He had been the one to tell her of Margaery’s invitation of taking the nooning meal outside after the council had gone their separate ways.

“ _I did not need your help with Royce.” She had told him. Still annoyed by the meeting and the arguing and the looks from those present between the two of them._

_“I did not help for your sake. All that I spoke was true, the taxation would help no one. Do you truly believe that only you knew this?”_

“Ah, I must be mistaken, then. I have never had the pleasure of meeting Lord Edmure, Princess Arya. I hope I will be able to soon.” Margaery said, smiling at Arya. Arya decided to ignore the honorific. It would not due for House Tyrell to feel so familiar so soon.

“I suppose you will soon enough, Lady Margaery.”

“Please,’ Margery reached out and placed a hand upon Arya’s, ‘call me Margaery, we are to be sisters after all.”

Next to her Meera coughed, though it sounded much like a stifled laugh.

“Margaery,” Arya agreed, doing her best to unclench her teeth.  

“I am very close with all of my cousins, and I have always longed for a sister. Your own sister, La-Queen Sansa, was as close as I’ve ever gotten, other than Leonette of course. I was extremely fond of your sister.”

“We all were. We were all overjoyed to hear that she had survived the Long Night and the Dance. After the wedding when she disappeared after…well, we had feared the worst.” Lady Alerie said.

“Sansa was fond of all of you as well.” Arya answered, moving her hand out of Margaery’s reach.

It was not necessarily a lie. Sansa had mentioned the Tyrells before Arya, when they spent long nights together waiting for the sun to rise. She remembers sharing the bed in their parent’s chambers with Sansa, there were no bed in the castle to share. They had laid together with nothing but the crackling of fire and the distant yelling of men in the dark between them and shared their stories. Sansa had been surprisingly vocal in her disappointment with Lady Margaery. The girl who she had wanted to call sister had turned her back on her as soon as it became inconvenient. The memory of Sansa’s story, spoken so quietly and with so much disappointment and resignation did nothing to endear the Tyrells to her.

When the news that Arya agreed to the match with Willas Tyrell, Sansa had written to her about House Tyrell. She had written to her to try to give the family a chance. They may not have been what Sansa had wanted, but the core of House Tyrell had not been cruel to her. _Do not close yourself to them, Arya, allow yourself to find happiness in the Reach,_ Sansa had written, _but remember that these roses, sweet and beautiful as they are, have thorns. I take comfort in the fact that you, sweet sister, are more than capable at telling petal from thorn._

“I am excited to be reunited with her when she returns to the capital.” Margaery said.

“There are to be many happy reunions. Meera, I hear that your father is coming along.” Arya said, turning to her fellow Northerner to take over the conversation. Besides Meera was to be her good sister as well, so she should not be left out of family bonding.

“Aye, he is. It has been a long time since he has come south of the Neck.”

“How fascinating. Be sure to let him know that we appreciate his attendance.” Margaery said, not unkindly. The honey that laced the lady’s words did very little to hide the hint of the authority in Margaery’s voice. Arya thought that it might be difficult for Margaery to be in the castle where she once reigned as a queen to now be guest. Troubling or not, Arya knew that Meera was not one to be walked over or tested.

“Father was very fond of Lord Eddard,’ Meera said, ‘He feels it is his duty to be here in Lord Eddard’s stead, to look out for Arya.”

Arya was proud that she did not snort at that. If anyone had any sense, they would know that Arya was more than capable of protecting herself. If Howland Reed was arriving to look out for someone, he should look out for the Tyrells. A whole Northern host was about to descend on the capital, and they played a different kind of game in the North. Who knew how golden roses would withstand northern frost?


End file.
